


It Was Never the Spell

by artemis1967



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dubious Consent, First Time, Jealous Dean Winchester, Jealous Sam Winchester, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:49:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29742471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis1967/pseuds/artemis1967
Summary: Maybe it is the spell. Maybe not. They'll just have to find out.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Other(s), Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Other(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

It's just the spell, Dean tries to convince himself.

His brother—the same brother to whom Dean gave a lap dance as a Christmas gift and spent the entire song trying to convince the girl that she should go to nursing school—wouldn't be able to pick up a condom and throw it so deliberately on the bed, saying without words what will happen in this damn motel room in the next few minutes.

Sam is also the first to remove layers of clothing until only jeans and underwear are left.

Dean doesn't move.

Eyebrows lift, forehead wrinkles, and fingers stop at the button of the jeans.

It's not the first time that he's seen Sam wearing so little clothing. There were many wounds and even showers in particularly difficult hunts that left one of them incapable. So, nudity between them isn't something alien, but it's the first time the purpose is different. And perhaps the awareness of what should happen between them is what prevents Dean from moving.

He never realized before how ripped his brother is. Damnit! It's possible to wash clothes on those deep cuts.

"We don't have much time, Dean." Sam's voice is firm, but the slender fingers pushing the zipper down are shaking slightly.

Dean looks at the clock on the nightstand. They've got an hour before the intense pain starts. Sighing, he removes piece by piece of clothing, eyes fixed on Sam and his nakedness finally revealed when his brother kicks his white boxers to the side with his right foot. The hard and heavy member points forward, and Dean's never seen his little brother in such a circumstance before, but he's handsome like that, naked and hard for Dean.

Hard for Dean. 

This is so fucking wrong. Almost depraved.

What he sees in those bright eyes isn't new to him, though. Dean's lost count of how many times appreciative looks like that have desired his body. This time, though, it's just the spell. He knows it, even when, deep down, he wants that lust on his brother's face not to be the result of something supernatural.

Dean removes his underwear under a look of surprise, hard flesh hitting his not-so-shaped belly. Little brother had no idea that Dean could be this big apparently, and a smirk comes naturally on his lips because Dean's proud of what he carries between his legs. They're brothers after all, and rivalry is part of it.

Wrapping a hand around his cock, Dean strokes it a few times, and Sam's member twitches, although the bitchface number 100 makes an appearance. Without a word, Sam climbs onto the bed and is on all fours before Dean's even able to think about the next move. It's hard for him to reconcile all that determination with the little brother who needs emotional involvement to get laid. But at least he'll be able to know if Sam Winchester cries his way through sex.

His brother's chest is leaning against the sheets as he presents his ass perfectly to Dean take it. He can see everything, from flawless skin, through hairless asscheeks that shelter a pink hole to muscular thighs that lead to big but well-kept feet. Dean’s heart races while desire grows, defying the little control he still has over his emotions. He walks the few steps to the bed, and it's far easier than it possibly should be. The fact that they're brothers doesn't seem important right now when lust runs through his skin like fire.

The first touch causes Sam to move forward and push back for contact then, allowing it, wanting it ultimately. The skin under Dean's fingers is surprisingly soft, and he wants to touch every inch of the willing body.

"On your back, Sammy." He doesn't know why he says this, but it just seems right in this absurd circumstance.

Over a shoulder, questioning eyes stare at him for a few seconds before Sam complies. Dean watches as his brother settles in, long hair splayed out on the white pillowcase, soles of the feet firm on the sheets and legs open, giving Dean the access he needs. 

That's as comfortable as Sam will get. Grabbing a pillow, Dean arranges it under Sam's ass to get the right angle. He doesn't quite know where to keep his eyes, not with all the golden skin exposed right in front of him or with those eyes showing desire and resignation. There's still no sign of the pain that caused the other victims to kill themselves, but the need for Sam has increased in the last few minutes, and Dean prefers to believe it's just the effect of the spell, although his heart wishes differently.

Keeping his eyes on Sam, he's sure to get lube on his fingers. The first one finds resistance and heat surrounds it when Dean pushes in. Aside from the slight blush forming on Sam's cheeks, there's no other reaction, though. Dean's cock reacts, of course, twitching, and what he wants right now is to bury himself in the tight heat around his finger; the only thing preventing him from doing just it is the real possibility of hurting Sam, because even without asking, he knows his brother has never done this before. With the second finger, teeth bite that red lower lip. No sound yet. And Dean wants to know if Sam is always this quiet in bed, despite the irrational jealousy he feels at just thinking about it.

He scissors his fingers, making room for something considerably bigger in muscles that aren't used for this. Sam's still tight, and Dean almost moans when he remembers that soon he'll feel it around his cock. The urge to have the tight heat around his cock is almost intolerable at this point, and only the fear of ripping Sam up makes him add more lube and push the third finger while watching the fire in those captivating eyes.

Sam is still quiet. Still pliant and trusting. His face reflects only serenity, and he seems to understand the discomfort that will come, accepting it with the same courage he faces every fucking challenge in his life. And that sends chills of excitement down Dean's spine because it's like getting to the top of a mountain, even though he's never climbed one before.

Knowing that not all preparation in the world will prevent pain, especially if it's Sam's first time, Dean pulls his fingers out. Consumed by the idea of being inside the body that he experienced only with his fingers, Dean slicks himself up before aligning his throbbing erection with Sam's entrance. Despite the initial resistance, stopping doesn't cross Dean's mind, even when he knows what that clenched jaw means after seeing his little brother in pain countless times. The spell is a fuck or die type, and Sam is not going to die, not under Dean's watch at least.

Marvelous is the only word that comes to Dean's mind when he's finally involved in the heat of Sam's body.

"Hurts." That sounds like a plea.

"I know. Try to relax, Sammy." His right hand caresses Sam's hip, assuring despite the tension he feels at having to hold himself up so as not to hammer his brother against the mattress right now.

Sam moves his hips experimentally, but Dean still holds on, in response to the evident discomfort on the flushed face. He grits his teeth, needing to move because that goddamn want starts hurting. Continuing is vital at this point. One nod is enough for Dean to pull out, still painfully slow, always watching for signs on the beautiful body.

"Hurts," Sam repeats, but he's still hard—leaking in abundance against his tanned belly—and Dean takes it as a good sign, mainly because none of the men he fucked before managed to maintain their erections during the initial penetration. He wonders if it's the effect of the spell even though it doesn't matter right now when Sam's so slippery and tight inside, and Dean's whole skin feels alive.

Then, there are no sounds other than those of flesh slapping against flesh, and Sam begins to relax around him. Fucking finally. A few more impulses and eyebrows arch to show an expression of pleasant surprise, which is when Dean hears the first moan leave Sam's mouth. He watches the way Sam's hips roll timidly in search of more, the way his breathing becomes unsteady, and his brother seems to glow with the intensity of what is happening.

Suddenly, everything is too much for Dean. The cruel reality of knowing he won't be able to have it again when the spell breaks. He pulls out of Sam's ass under a surprised look and turns his brother around.

It's time to break this damn spell.

@@@@@

It's just the spell, Sam says to himself.

The first time is brutal, bodies trained to kill trying to satisfy their need for sex. It's too much for Sam to take at once, and it fucking hurts. Dean is so deep inside once untouched places, but Sam is still hungry for more and he vibrates with the intensity of the heat running through his body.

"You have no idea." Dean sounds wrecked despite the firm grip of his fingers on Sam's waist. "No idea at all," his brother adds.

Sam doesn't want to think about what Dean's words might mean. Doesn't want to believe that maybe he has an idea of what they mean.

His brother's groin hits his buttocks at a rate that is both dizzying and stimulating. Sex has never been this raw before, not even when he was soulless.

The cheap fabric of the sheets bravely resists the death grip Sam's fingers have on it.

"Shit! You're so tight," his brother says in a voice that reveals effort and astonishment.

Sam just wants him to shut up and fuck him until the fire inside his veins goes out. The sudden realization that he is leaking over the sheets makes Sam wonder if his erection is due to the spell or the cock fucking him. Despite having a prostate, Sam never thought of it as a source of pleasure before, and one he intends to revisit in the future if they get out of this damn spell.

Knocking on the walls makes Dean scream 'fuck off' more than once while the pounding remains undisturbed and frantic.

"If they knew how it is, they would also want a piece of this ass." Dean's statement is accompanied by fingers spreading Sam's buttocks, and he doesn't want to think about what his brother is seeing right now.

"So fucking pretty like this, Sammy." The tone is reverent, but Sam's exposure is still undeniable, and he feels heat rising up his neck and face. It's not supposed to be like this. He's not the one spread out during sex and the fact that he likes it is scary. "And you just take it." Sam breathes harshly through his mouth because Dean is right, and he arches his back, involuntarily wanting more of this new and burning pleasure. "You take my dick like you were made for it." And his big brother is accurate about this too.

Sounds work their way out of his throat, needy and pathetic to Sam's shame.

When Dean's hands move from his asscheeks, it is only to go back to his waist, to grab and pull his body back, probably leaving marks on Sam's feverish skin. Soon he's melting into a sea of pleasure that's more familiar than strange and intense to the point of draining the rest of the strength keeping him on his hands and knees. Sam collapses against the sticky sheets, but the solid body follows and covers him almost completely. An arm grabs his chest; the impulses continue, deeper like this, and the only option for Sam is to take it. Dean's scent is all over the place, virile and intoxicating in a way Sam never noticed before, and he wants to drown in it.

Everything that is not Dean on top of him, inside him, is irrelevant from then on. Doesn't matter a spell caused this or that they are brothers or the real meaning of Dean's words, but only the desire that corrodes and consumes and needs to be satisfied.

When it's all over, Sam feels drained, limbs heavy with exhaustion. He doesn't open his eyes while feels the warmth of a damp cloth wipe his skin, afraid of what he might find in that face he knows so well. A sheet is placed over his body, and Sam is grateful for the illusion of privacy. He doesn't open his eyes.

"You good?" Dean sounds like he's been screaming for hours.

Sam still doesn't open his eyes.

"Awesome." The sarcastic tone he tries to put on his voice coming up short.

"Get some sleep. We can't do anything until the coven reunites again."

Sam complies, too tired and afraid to face the consequences of what they've done right now.

@@@@@

When Sam wakes up, there's no trace of the man who fucked an inch of his life last night, but just his big brother as always.

They don't talk about it.

Work becomes a priority again, and they destroy the coven, but a witch escapes, and Sam's to hear Dean complain about how much he hates witches all the way back to the Bunker, the phantom sensation of Dean's cock inside him still occupying his thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

Fatigue weighs on Dean's shoulders, or rather, it's like carrying the weight of the world on his back. Fingers tighten on his Baby's steering wheel as he tries to stay awake. He glances at Sam, who is sleeping with his head against the window. His brother seems so at peace like that, having no idea about the turmoil going on inside Dean.

The day after the sex between them was less traumatic than Dean had anticipated, with him ignoring everything that happened as soon as they removed their clothes. And he's an expert in not talking about emotions. Fortunately, Sam went along with him, despite the not-so-subtle looks thrown in his direction.

Ignoring the elephant in the room hasn't worked, though, even more so in the moments when Sam bends over to do something or licks those red lips innocently, the simple gestures provoking devastating effects in Dean.

Sam moves but doesn't wake up, and the long legs open involuntarily, reminding Dean that he was already between them and how much he enjoyed being inside Sam. Grabbing the steering wheel to the point of turning his knuckles white, Dean avoids looking at the tempting view beside him. He doesn't need a damn hard-on right now.

The logical conclusion is they missed something, and the spell is still active somehow, but the reality of what Dean's feeling makes him doubt it.

The miles ahead never looked so dark and desolate before.

@@@@@

Sam tries to find the witch, but it's as if she's evaporated into the air. Disappointed, he looks at his laptop screen, suddenly lost in memories of naked bodies giving in to pleasure. Everything is still so vivid in his mind, but he's afraid to admit he wants that again, and it's precisely why they need to find the damn witch, to make sure his feelings are simply a side effect of the spell.

Heavy steps interrupt his thoughts.

"Baby is ready to stretch her wheels." Dean's animated voice is the opposite of how Sam feels at the moment. He then makes the mistake of looking at the source of the voice. Dean's wearing a black T-shirt—which just now he notices how much it sticks to his brother's biceps—and old, tight jeans. Sam's eyes wander to Dean's groin, and he knows what the fabric is hiding. Without thinking, he licks his lips, blushing when he realizes Dean's watching him, though his brother is the one who interrupts the awkward silence, "Did you find anything?"

"No. Actually, I-" Fuck, since when oil stains on Dean's arms are so distracting.

"Forget that fucking bitch, Sam. We don't have a damn clue, and it's a waste of time. Look for something we can work on." The authoritative tone is annoying as always, but Sam doesn't have time to say anything because Dean walks away before he can even think about anything other than the inches of skin he wants to touch.

Looking at the volume in his pants, Sam knows he needs to find the witch anyway.

@@@@@

It was supposed to be a simple salt and burn because Sam needs time to find the witch, but he didn't expect the damn girl. Brunette and with big breasts—the way Dean likes them—she's practically sitting on his brother's lap. Sam's eyes invariably shift their focus from the laptop to the couple a few steps away. He doesn't need a crystal ball to know what the girl wants. And Dean seems very happy to give it to her, as indicated by his brother's big hands almost on the girl's ass. Those are the hands that have already touched Sam's body so intimately. Hands that can comfort but also kill in the blink of an eye. Sam just wants them back on his body, making him fall apart again.

Dean winks at him before helping the girl up and pulling her towards the exit. In response, Sam's hands squeeze into fists, and the tightness in his stomach is something that shouldn't be there.

They had nothing else to do in the city after the ghost's bones were burned, but Dean insisted they needed to relax. Unfortunately, there's nothing relaxing about sitting at a bar thinking about his big brother's hands.

Sam orders a shot of whiskey this time.

@@@@@

It's almost two o'clock in the morning when Dean hears a noise at the motel room door. He decides to pretend to be asleep, but his instincts go on maximum alert when they seem to have trouble opening the door. Sam is an expert when it comes to doors, a hairpin is enough for him, and that's why the knife under the pillow is a substantial presence in Dean's hand then. When the damn door finally opens, Sam's laughter fills the quiet room.

"Shh, Dean is sleeping," he hears his little brother whisper.

What the hell?

Releasing the knife, Dean opens his eyes in time to see Sam's backpack fall to the floor by the door. He's alone and almost covered in mud.

"What the fuck happened to you, man?"

"Shh." Sam tries to bring a dirty finger to his lips, which isn't effective.

"I'm awake, dumbass," Dean says, getting up.

His brother oscillates on his feet, and Dean's sure a strong wind would be enough to bring him down. It's the worry that takes him quickly to Sam.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

Hands check Sam's face, but all it takes is a giggle and the smell of alcohol for Dean to know his brother is wasted.

"A damn mud puddle has happened," Sam says, although he continues to giggle while submits to Dean's inspection.

Satisfied that Sam is okay despite all the mud, Dean says, "You need a shower."

"I stink." The pointed nose wrinkles as Sam tries to take off his jacket without success.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Sam!" Dean complains but reaches for the jacket himself, helping his brother get rid of it.

Between risking Sam having a concussion and the invasion of privacy, he opts for the second. Besides, Dean remembers he did a lot more than just seeing Sam naked and decides that helping him shower is nothing too serious, mostly when he's done it before.

The shirt and T-shirt come out easier, under giggles and hiccups because Sam was always a happy drunk. When it's time for the pants, Dean hesitates a few seconds but remembers there's nothing wrong with what he is doing, without considering the half-hard dick inside his pants, of course.

Sam stops laughing when Dean's fingers push his jeans down his muscular legs, and there's a volume that wasn't there before when Dean frees Sam from his underwear.

"Dean?" Sam's voice doesn't seem so slurred anymore.

That damn mud on the big hands reminds Dean of the task at hand, though, and he orders, "Bathroom, Sam. Now."

His brother’s pretty face looks disappointed before he obeys, but Sam trips over his own feet, and it's only Dean's arm that prevents an unpleasant fall to the floor.

"Oops," Sam says, laughing again.

"Moron."

The bathroom trip happens without incident, and Dean supports the limp body against the wall before turning on the water.

"I can-" Sam starts, moving away from the wall, but he's unsteady on his feet, and Dean grabs him around the waist.

"Sam! Stay, dude. A concussion wouldn't be a good thing right now."

"Will you gimme a bath, Dean?"

"It would've been the first time. Now shut up."

Dean hears another giggle and a hiccup even though Sam doesn't try to move on his own anymore. The next few minutes are pure torture for Dean. He remembers other touches, so different from the impersonality he tries to show now. Blood rushes to his cock anyway when Dean's hand moves to Sam's ass.

"Dean?" Sam's voice is a whisper against the arm he's been supporting on the wall. His little brother pushes his ass out, obscene and needy.

Dean can't breathe.

"How did you fuck her?" Sam sounds hurt.

The wet skin under Dean's fingers is so tempting.

The most pathetic is that he didn't fuck the chick. Despite those wonderful tits, he could only think about a particular muscular body and miles of golden skin at the crucial moment.

"Was good?" Sam insists, pushing against his hands, and Dean doesn't know if he's grateful or disappointed to be dressed in T-shirt and sweatpants.

"Yeah, it was." Dean lies.

The movements stop. Then eyes full of something that can only be desire stare at him.

"Fuck me. Like you fucked her."

Dean has been dying to hear that in the last few weeks, but now he doesn't know what to do. While he tries to decide, a hand grabs his right hand, and he's pulled forward until his groin is against Sam's ass. The erection under his hand isn't a surprise.

"Please," Sam begs, grinding his perky ass against Dean's cock.

He wants to, as he never wanted anything before, but Sam is drunk, and certain lines must not be crossed.

"Dean?" He hates and loves the pleading in Sam's voice.

Water soaks his clothes. Sam's movements start getting more desperate, and the hand over his is insistent. Dean's resolve weakens as each second passes until he decides what is acceptable in a situation like this. With a frustrated groan, he pulls away from Sam just enough to release his erection and position it between Sam's legs.

"Close your legs," he says even when the opposite is the only thing that makes sense.

Sam complies, eager and needy and irresistible. The hand covering his moves to the tile, and Sam repeats, "Fuck me." But his little brother's not in his right mind right now. Neither is Dean. And it doesn't matter he's been sober for hours.

The idea that the spell is still working crosses Dean’s mind, making him think maybe Sam is right about trying to find the damn witch.

Closing his fingers around Sam's erection, Dean begins to fuck between the firm thighs. It's a pale imitation of what he really wants to do, and it doesn't help he knows how good it feels to be inside Sam. A raw need drives his movements then, images of all he'd like to do with Sam, for Sam, flashing in front of his eyes.

Too soon the cock in his hand jerks, and Sam comes with a shout that leaves him boneless against the wall. Only the hand wrapped around his waist keeps him on his feet while Dean craves for his own orgasm. It's not the best nor the most intense he has ever had, but it's the most significant because it leaves a bittersweet taste for more.

"Time for bed, Sammy," he murmurs against the wet hair.


	3. Chapter 3

The annoying hammering in his head is the first thing Sam notices when he wakes up. Without opening his eyes, he tries to remember what the hell happened to him and can’t prevent a shocked moan when accusing images come to his mind, of whiskey, a fall to the ground, him begging for Dean, a hand on his cock, the volume against his ass, between his legs. He feels pathetic then, unable to understand how he could behave in that way. That slut is not him. He's even too conventional when it comes to sex, except with Ruby and when he was soulless, but those were unusual situations and so different from how he normally is in sex.

The damn spell. There's no other reasonable explanation for what happened last night. But then he remembers the delicious slide of hot flesh between his legs and how he wanted to feel Dean inside him again. And it’s so wrong.

Frustrated, he opens his eyes to an empty room. Panic makes him sit up on the bed, despite the pain in his skull. There's no way to blame Dean if he decided to leave Sam, not after his promiscuous behavior towards his own brother, but he sees a glass of water and Advil on the nightstand before noticing Dean's duffel in the same place it was yesterday and relief washes over him, so hard that's with a shaking hand he reaches for the water and painkillers.

The door opens as soon as Sam swallows all the water in the glass. He watches Dean enter the room carrying coffee and two bags.

"How are you feeling, Sammy? What the fuck did you drink, man?" He asks, too loudly for Sam's aching head, as he kicks the door shut with one foot and places the items on the small table.

The relief Sam feels at not being dumped by Dean is replaced by embarrassment, his cheeks prickling with heat.

"Whiskey," he murmurs, looking back at the ugly bedspread covering his legs.

"Always a lightweight. I thought I taught you better."

Sam wasn't that drunk. He remembers everything. Everything that matters, at least. But Dean knows that. His brother is just making use of his favorite tactic of not talking about things. Sam can live with that, and perhaps it's the best option anyway.

Dean deposits one of the bags over Sam's thighs. "The best hangover remedy," he says with that smugness reserved only for little brothers on hangover days, "Greasy pork sandwich."

"I hate you," Sam says quietly.

"I know you do, bitch."

@@@@@

Only when they're back home does Dean grab Sam’s biceps, his tone is serious, "We better find that stupid bitch."

Sam's throat goes dry, but he agrees, mainly because he’s felt that need for his brother to grow inside him again, and the only way to stop this is to find the witch.

@@@@@

Four weeks later, there's still no trace of the witch. With his eyes burning and back hurting from the anti-ergonomic position, Sam turns off the computer. He's lost count of how many hours they have spent on the useless research until now.

Dean enters the library carrying two bottles of beer, one of which he puts on the table in front of Sam. His brother doesn't bother with a chair, preferring to sit on the table. Sam can smell his cologne, see muscles of thick thighs forcing the fabric of the jeans. His heart picks up, and he wants to touch, to be touched, skin against skin, so maybe this way it will be possible to drive out the want growing inside him in the last few days.

Half his beer is gone before Sam can control his emotions again.

"Garth has a job for us," Dean says after swallowing a good amount of his beer. "And if I stay another day inside these fucking walls, I'm sure I'll explode." He sounds serious about that.

Dean loves the Bunker, but Sam suspects that his restlessness has more to do with this new tension between them.

"We don't want that, right Dean?" His playful tone seems not to affect Dean because his brother orders, "Pack your stuff."

Dean doesn't look at him as he jumps off the table, not even as he walks towards the hallway.

"Bossy," Sam complains, although Dean can no longer hear him.

He swallows what's left of his beer, grabs his laptop, and goes to do what Dean said.

@@@@@

Both are sober when it happens again.

It's a Wendigo, and they end the hunt almost uninjured, except for two burned fingers for Sam and a cut on Dean's forehead that doesn't even need stitches. The problem comes later when heavy rain makes them hide in an abandoned cabin in the middle of the forest.

"I hate camping," Dean affirms unnecessarily because Sam knows that.

"You wanted to leave the Bunker, so don't complain." Sam does his best to keep his voice steady despite the cold freezing to his bones. He reaches for his jacket and starts to push it off his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Dean doesn't look much better than Sam with his lips starting to turn blue.

Sam gets rid of his shirt and T-shirt.

"Our clothes are wet, Dean," he says, not in the mood to roll his eyes, though. "And I suggest you do the same. We need to warm up and fast."

Everything is soaked, and there's no way to start a fire. The only option is the bed at the back of the cabin and the blanket that Sam had the good sense to put in his backpack before they left the Impala in the parking lot.

Dean looks at Sam's bare chest with something suspicious like desire before he starts taking his own clothes off.

Sam focuses on preventing hypothermia and keeps his eyes away from Dean's body. His wet clothes end up on the chairs while trembling fingers open jeans, but Sam doesn't offer to help because Dean wouldn't accept it anyway.

By the time Dean gets close to the bed, Sam starts to think this isn’t a good idea after all.

"Get into bed, Dean," he orders, reaching for the blanket.

"No way!"

"What?" Sam's shaking slightly now. "Are you crazy?" Dean's resistance is ridiculous.

"I won't be the little spoon." Although the sulky pout in the bluish lips and arms crossed over the broad chest, Dean is still a breathtaking sight.

"I'm taller than you. It's easier this way." Sam doesn't hide his irritation while spreading the blanket on the bed.

"I have never been the little spoon in my life. I won't start now."

Sam doesn't know if he wants to punch or kiss his irritating brother. Knowing it's like arguing with a door, though, he climbs into the bed.

"You are an idiot, Dean."

The effect of Dean's smirk gets lost because of the chattering teeth, but he gets into bed and settles against Sam's back. The contact between their cold skins makes Sam hiss and want to get away from the discomfort. Dean covers them with the blanket, and also cold hands begin to rub against Sam's stomach and chest. Trying to help, Sam moves his legs against Dean's and, despite the slow process, their bodies get warm. He stops shaking, and Dean's hands on his skin cause chills that have nothing to do with cold anymore.

"You alright?" The words are hardly a whisper. Fingers play with his happy trail, and Sam wants Dean, so much that it hurts.

"Yeah. You?" He also whispers in fear of breaking the moment because he doesn't know if Dean is conscious about his fingers getting closer to Sam's groin or about the erection growing against his ass.

"I've never been better." Soft lips deposit what can only be a kiss at the junction between Sam's neck and shoulder, making him want to believe Dean so badly and hope he's the only cause for his brother's well-being and not a fucking spell.

Sam moves his hips, not forward, as he should, but back, against hot stiffness. An elaborate exhale and Sam's afraid he got it all wrong, that the erection now rubbing between his buttocks is just a consequence of the forced closeness.

Then comes the question, "You want this, Sammy?" and Sam's heart speeds up in his chest.

Fingers move to the tangle of his pubic hair, so close to the base of his cock.

The question is unnecessary because the grinding of his ass against Dean's groin should be enough of an answer.

"I-" he starts but doesn't know how to say this.

A hand closes around his erection.

"Say what you want from me, Sammy. Say what you need."

Sam doesn't fight the desire, first because he can't anymore and second because he doesn't want to. His voice comes out clearly, "Give it to me, Dean." He's at a point where he doesn't mind begging. "Fuck me. Please."

Dean’s thumb rubs over Sam’s slit, spreading not only pre-come but also the urgency growing inside him. He's sure a smile forms on the lips against his neck. The hand disappears from his erection, as does the heat on his back, but he avoids a disappointed whimper because he knows Dean needs space to work. Saliva is all they have, but Sam doesn't care, not after days of wanting exactly this. He sighs in relief when Dean finally enters him, that immense emptiness he has felt beginning to fill. Then there's a hand on his hip, Dean thrusting in him, having him, taking him.

"You want it just as much as I do, Sammy."

He wants to deny Dean's statement and scream that he never wanted it, that's the spell causing this absurd need for his own brother, but the delicious shivers that make his toes curl and cock twitch don't agree with him.

"Just… Don't," Sam murmurs because he can't hear the truth of those words. His eyes close, the hand he's around his cock just holds the rigid member, and it's all overwhelming and intoxicating, and he wants more and more.

Dean still uses his mouth, but only to give little kisses on Sam's neck. This soft side of Dean—without Sam being hurt in any way—is a pleasant surprise for him, although the rough part during sex is also great. In all honesty, Sam is confused, torn between pleasure, guilt, and the fear that everything is the result of his sick mind, that Dean is being forced into this because of him. But then Dean fucks him, slow and deep, and his world is reduced to this, the two of them entangled in each other, joined in the most intimate way possible.

Sam's world goes blurry around the edges. A shudder, Dean's name in his mouth, and he comes, just as intensely as the other times. Arms tighten around him, and Dean is coming too, buried deep inside him. He's not nearly freezing anymore. There are heat and sweat now, and the tightness around him hasn't yet eased.

Moving isn't on Sam’s plans, at least for the next few minutes. With his eyes closed, he remains satisfied and safe in Dean's arms. Seconds later, however, his peace is interrupted by his brother's laughter, "I don't think hypothermia is a problem anymore, Sammy."

"Jerk."

He still doesn't move, letting the sleep come and fading into oblivion.

@@@@@

Ironically, Sam's best night's sleep in the last few months has an awkward awakening. Dean's already up and dressed, leaning against the wall and with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on Sam.

Despite all the crazy situations they've been involved in, waking up naked and sticky to a brother who was probably watching him sleep outnumbers all others.

Before he can say anything, Dean seems to come out of his trance. "I thought you were going to sleep all day, princess."

Denial then. Again. Denial has been easier in any case.

He sits up but keeps a grip on the blanket. His reaction is stupid, he knows it, after all Dean had his cock buried deep in his ass last night, though he can't stop his shyness.

"What time is it?" He asks in a soft voice.

"It’s after nine. Chop-chop! Let's get out of this fucking place before it starts raining again."

Dean moves to pick up his stuff, and Sam feels paralyzed, fingers tight on the blanket. Not even half a minute later, Dean looks at him again, eyebrows raised. And maybe it's the sudden blush Sam feels or the fact that he looks away, so laughter fills the room.

"Such a prude."

"A little privacy would be nice." His tone is irritated. He doesn't know what else to do besides sitting on the bed they fucked and with the evidence of it between his buttocks. So, Sam stays right there like a statue and hiding behind the hair hanging on his face.

The laughter stops.

"Shit! Are you serious?" Dean must see something in his demeanor because he says, "I'll wait outside."

When the door closes quietly behind Dean, Sam releases the breath he was holding, the grip of his fingers loosens, but the heat on his cheeks increases. He behaved like an idiot, further worsening the strange situation.

Cursing, he gets out of bed, soreness making itself known when his feet touch the floor, and it's scary how he likes the feeling, to know that Dean was there, taking him, marking him. Sam's heart aches as he puts on his clothes quickly, torn between want and guilt. It's always the damn guilt.

When he grabs his backpack, the only certainty in his mind is that they have to find the witch.

@@@@@

Dean shuts the door and leans against the wall, eyes closing and teeth biting his lower lip hard.

What the hell was that?

First, he spies on Sam sleeping for at least an hour, then he ignores what happened between them last night, and finally, he makes fun of Sam when he shouldn't have. Actually, he knows the spell isn't the real problem here, but his denial capacity has always been present in his life. It has always been something he enthusiastically embraced. It's easier to take all that crap and bury it, forget about it because it's how they keep going. The problem is there's no space to bury anything else. And he doesn't want to do this anymore. After all that they've lived through, now it's the perfect moment to recognize this thing between them isn't going to disappear, and embracing it is perhaps the best option.

All his life he's been the protector. His number one guideline has always been Sam's safety. But now that the last big bad—better known as Chuck—is a weak and powerless human, his need for Sam is still his primary motivation, with just one more element. Sex has never made him so desperate and satisfied before. He just wants this to keep happening.

His eyes open to the dense forest, but the image of a Sam blushing and naked under the blanket is the only one in his mind, so adorable that Dean wanted to work every inch of that body until his brother came and then fuck him again.

Sam walks out the door, interrupting Dean's thoughts. He still avoids his eyes but no longer resembles a virgin after their first time. The comparison makes him want to laugh. It's not the right time, though, and he ends up just saying, "Let's get out of this fucking place."

@@@@@

From then on, sex continues to happen, never planned, never needing permission, never being recognized by them. They don't give up trying to find the witch, though the invocation Sam finds in one of Rowena's books goes wrong, bringing in a witch who vehemently assures she's never heard of the woman they are looking for. Dean wants to shoot her, but Sam convinces him to let her go, and they go back to square one.

Tension is a constant presence in their relationship now, however. Dean still spoils Sam by buying organic and the sophisticated coffees he likes, but the little touches are gone. There are no more pats on the back of Sam’s head when Dean thinks he did something stupid, nor a slap to his ass to embarrass him when they mistake them for a couple, nor grips assuring on his shoulder when Sam's a rough time to deal with something. It's as if Dean is afraid to touch him when they're not fucking, and although he likes the sexual part, maybe more than he should have, the need for his big brother is almost painful.

Tired of looking at the rotating blades on the ceiling, Sam closes his eyes. The last spellbook he found in the Bunker library can wait until tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam snaps when they are working on a case in Oklahoma to Dean's surprise, but deliciously.

The waitress is pretty with his blond hair in a bun and a pointed nose that resembles Sam's. She's way too young for Dean's taste, though he loves the attention of course. When the poor girl brings Dean a complimentary drink, Sam grabs his biceps, pulling him to his feet, and he trips while Sam practically drags him to the bathroom. Not hiding his exasperation, Sam pushes him into one of the stalls. Dean's back hits the wall, and his brother is already kneeling in front of him. Astonished, he just watches long fingers work his button and zipper and reach for his cock. The next thing he feels is the warmth of Sam's mouth swallowing him, hungry and possessive.

"Holy shit, Sam!" He gets hard so fast it hurts.

A hand holds Dean's shirt out of the way, head bobs wild, and tongue slides up and down his cock. He sucks in a small breath, still too shocked by this unexpected turn of events. Green eyes are fixed on his, and the intensity makes Dean want to hide and denude completely at the same time. The way Sam's mouth opens around him is absolute. His brother sucks, licks, swallows, chokes, takes possession of Dean's cock in the last. One hand holds his wrist and then Dean's hand is on the soft hair. 'Fuck me' those eyes say, which is more than enough for Dean. His fingers grab the brown strands, forcing Sam's head, making his brother take it. Tears trickle down the corners of Sam's beautiful eyes, nose touches Dean's pubic hair, and he loses himself in the pleasure of his that divine mouth.

He wants to memorize the image of Sam on his knees in a stall whose cleanliness is questionable, to say the least, with his mouth full of cock—his big brother's cock—and adoring eyes, so sure in this submission that Dean could die happy right now. But dying is not in Dean's plans, not now he has it, not now he has Sam like this, eager and pretty and his.

Dean's other hand also goes to Sam's hair, so he fucks and uses the heat of the willing mouth to reach his climax, which hits him like a fucking freight train. Only the bite on his bottom lip prevents Dean from moaning his pleasure, and Sam swallows everything Dean gives him, easy and with the efficiency of a porn star.

The shelter of Sam's mouth only disappears when Dean starts softening. In silence, his brother tucks him back in his jeans and gets to his feet again. Dean comes out of his post-orgasm stupor and can't stop himself, "Sammy, I get all tingly when you take control like that."

Sam smiles in that sweet, exasperated way that only Sam can do.

"Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean says, then remembering his brother also needs an orgasm. "My turn, Sammy." 

Sam's expression changes, the sudden shyness so different from before, and his brother lowers his head, hiding behind a layer of hair while he says softly, "Too late."

"Really?" 

Sam lifts his shirt, and there's an unmistakable wet spot on his groin. Knowing that Sam just came while blowing him does wonder for Dean's ego, but it also brings jealousy because Sam is his. Only his. Nobody has the right to see him like that. Instead of smirking, Dean almost growls, "Let's get out of here. Stay behind me."

@@@@@

Sam is sure his brother is watching porn, even though he can't see Dean's laptop screen. Sitting in front of his own laptop, he pretends to be researching. Without a new job lined up for now, Sam should be looking for the witch; however, in the past few weeks he's been thinking a lot about their new reality, about how satisfying it's to be with Dean in a way brothers shouldn't be involved. So, his attempts to find the witch lately are, at the very least, devoid of real commitment because the painful truth is that he doesn't want to lose what they have.

The smile Dean has on his face is that of someone who's about to get laid. It's not porn then. 

Something ugly churns in Sam's stomach, something like jealousy, and he sighs his frustration quietly, trying not to get his brother's attention. Repeating what happened in Oklahoma isn't in his plans. 

Until now Sam hasn't understood his reaction. Dean flirting with girls is as common as taking a shower or brushing the teeth, but he can still feel the possessiveness that washed over him that day, which is a little scary since Sam was never jealous before, even when Jess was alive.

Dean closes his laptop, getting out of his chair, the damn smile still on his handsome face.

"Going somewhere?" Sam asks carefully, not wanting to intrude but needing to know anyway.

His brother grins smugly at him, "I'm gonna lay the pipe, Sammy boy. Don't wait for me."

Sam hates the animation in Dean's voice as he walks out of the library, and who still speaks like that in the 21st century? 

He thinks it would be the perfect opportunity to break something, anger and frustration wanting to escape in waves. It's all an ideation, though, because he's not like that, and violence has never been a conscious choice for him before. Besides, Dean is the only one who uses violence as an escape valve, which is more than enough for both of them.

Frustrated beyond belief, Sam looks at the laptop screen without paying any attention to it. Sex was never as essential to him as it seems to be now. He's already had months without having sex with anyone, depending only on his hand for some relief. So, this need for Dean is disturbing, but at the same time, he doesn't want to find the witch and take a chance of confirming that everything is the result of a damned spell.

Tired and knowing that he won't find the answers he is looking for—at least not now—Sam decides to go to bed despite being only half-past nine. And if before falling asleep he finds solace with a hand on his cock, three fingers inside his hole, and the memories of the times that Dean fucked him, no one needs to know about it.

@@@@@

The idea comes when they are in Colorado. They quickly finished off the vampire nest, with Dean's favorite jeans being the only casualty after all the blood and tears caused by claws.

The immediate plan is to go to a bar at night and hit the road tomorrow.

Dean flirting with a man—much to Sam's astonishment—just makes him put his plan into action. While he's looking for someone interesting, Dean winks at him before leaving the bar with a guy—a fucking twink for fuck's sake—which makes Sam suddenly feel old and doesn't matter he is only thirty-eight years old. His beer disappears in a single sip, and he puts the bottle back on the counter, only then noticing eyes interested in him. 

The guy is handsome, blond, and with green eyes that remind him of Dean. But the similarity ends there because the well-trimmed beard and expensive clothes give the impression of politeness and refinement. Adrian is an Engineer, looking for a warm body and pleasure without compromise, and in less than fifteen minutes they leave the bar together. Sam doesn't need romance, not with this guy at least.

Although it's not his brightest idea, Sam takes the guy to their motel room. The sex is good, but there's not that intensity he has with Dean or the spark that bursts into flame, the need that almost hurts, and maybe it's the spell after all.

They say goodbye with a kiss that doesn't provoke butterflies in Sam's stomach. As soon as he closes the door, the card with the guy's phone number goes to the trash, and Sam takes a shower. He comes out of the bathroom to find Dean by the trash, and it doesn't take a genius to know his brother saw the discarded condom there. The swollen joints of Dean's right hand catch Sam's eye then.

"What the hell did you do, Dean?" Because it's obvious he got into a fight, and Sam knows what happened.

"Just a broken nose, Sam. Your prince charming is alive and breathing," Dean says, sarcasm detectable in his tone.

Sam moves, fast and efficient as when he's hunting. Dean sucks in a breath as soon as his back hits the wall. "Hypocrisy is a bad color on you, Dean," he grunts, his forearm pressing against the vulnerable throat. 'Was his ass tight?', 'Was his ass better than mine?' Sam wants to ask, but what comes out is, "A fucking child, you son of a bitch." He pushes one leg between Dean's, putting pressure on his brother's groin.

"Jealousy is a bad color on you, bro," The smug bastard smiles, their faces so close that Sam could count the freckles on Dean's skin.

He doesn't recognize himself, much less this despair that consumes, this feeling of possession over Dean.

"At least I got a man to do the job." He knows he's playing with fire, but it's like trying to stop an avalanche. Paralyzed, he sees the smile disappear, jaw tighten, and something dark and feral appear in the emerald eyes. 

The knot in Sam's stomach this time is for a completely different reason, even knowing that Dean's not going to hurt him and how dark Dean can go. A moment later, he is the only one against the wall, a cheek and palms finding support on the rough surface. The towel is pulled off his waist, leaving him naked and shaking slightly in the cold room. He feels fingers spread his asscheeks. A low hiss and Sam know that's because of the undeniable evidence still present in his body. 

"I'd have killed him." Dean growl is dangerous.

Sam hopes Adrian is away and safe, although part of him loves this overwhelming possessiveness.

Still hurts, but it's easier after so many times, as if Sam's body is adapting to the large size of Dean's length. The impulses begin as soon as Dean's dick is enveloped by his heat. His body jolts with the force of his brother's impulses, but he feels complete in a way that words are not enough to explain.

It doesn't feel like the other times Dean fucked him, however. Because it feels like punishment for what he did before. Dean's using his cock to remind Sam that no one but him should have this. What he can't tell Dean is that he needed to know. Needed to make sure it's not his goddamn big brother causing all these sensations, but just the novelty of having something in his ass playing in places that bring pleasure so satisfying that it's addictive.

"Do you want to know what I think, Sam?" No. He doesn't want to know, mainly for fear of facing the truth. "I think you always needed to be fucked." Dean thrusts go wilder. "But nobody ever gave it to you," Dean says like he's just stating a fact. "You want this just as much as I do." He wants to deny it and scream that he never wanted it, and that is just the spell causing this absurd need for his own brother. He gives in, though, quite simply. "You can pretend you don't want it, Sammy, but I know the truth." The impulses are so deep that Sam has the impression he can feel Dean in his fucking throat. "You are mine." The voice against Sam's ear makes his body respond, and in such a natural way that no spell would have the power to cause it.

As much as he tries to convince himself that it is still the spell, it doesn't work. No more. The realization that there may never have been a spell at all hits Sam hard, but the desire invading every pore of his body replaces the shame and guilt. The hands on his waist shouldn't feel so good, but they do, and he doesn't want to live without it anymore.

Impulses continue, wild and deep, and Sam knows he's going to feel it for days.

"You're as pretty as this, Sammy. Writhing on the end of my cock," Dean sounds so undone, in a way that's precisely how Sam feels.

The smell of old stuff hits Sam's nose. He doesn't even want to imagine what these walls have seen, doesn't want to think about lives that were in this place at some point. Transitory, tragic, maybe happy, but he'll never know because all he knows right now is this feeling of invasion and possession, so new and old to him. It has never been like this before. It's him being subdued in every sense of the term, and he likes this.

"I always wanted this," Dean murmurs.

The fingers on Sam's waist seem to have a life of their own, wanting to mark and appropriate his body. He's dominated by something so unique that the only solution is to surrender. He even tries to fight it, but this thing is more powerful than him. Every sensitive point in his body seems to need this, and desperately, turning him into a puppet at the mercy of its creator's wishes.

His climax is as intense as it has ever been before, not even that first time. So shame wells up in his chest. It shouldn't be this way. Sam shouldn't like to be fucked by his big brother, the flesh of his flesh, the blood of his blood, both conceived by the same father and the same mother. He feels so guilty and confused at the same time. 

But then there is that tone that is synonymous with comfort against his ear, "We're meant for each other." Dean's still inside him, so present and real, and Sam wants to laugh at such a statement. "You and me, Sammy. Soulmates. For all eternity. Ash knew it."

_A few people share—special cases. What not._

_Aw, you know. Like, uh, soulmates._

Sam remembers the words, although he never wanted to believe them before. Now he wants to shout them out to the world because nothing makes more sense than Dean and him, Dean with him, Dean inside him. Together. Forever.

Hands squeezing painfully on his waist bring him back to reality.

He realizes he is full, complete with Dean's release.

Dean.

Everything comes down to Dean.

Fingers that are now warm and gentle spread his buttocks again.

He feels himself leaking.

There is no hiss this time, but only satisfaction in the deep voice, "Much better now."

Hands turn him around, and he faces clear eyes; the darkness is gone. He should feel vulnerable because he is the only one naked, but it doesn't happen.

A thumb caresses his jaw as Dean says, "You and me. No one else, Sammy."

Despite the fear and doubt still present in some corner of his brain, Sam gives his brother what he hopes is a confident smile. "Can you kiss me now?"

Dean grins brightly at him. "Fucking girl!"

Dean's mouth is on his then, excited and ravenous, and everything he needs to know this thing between them will work.

They end up in bed, both naked this time, and only leave the motel three days later.

@@@@@

The tension disappears, the touches come back—and possessive like never—but Sam appreciates all the attention he gets from Dean. It's all comfortable and familiar between them again. They are lovers, but they are also brothers again.

Sam gives up looking for the witch because how it started doesn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is that none of them want to live without it any longer.

It takes three months for Sam's world to implode again when he recognizes the witch's face at a party they are working undercover. A smile that makes Sam a little weak at the knees, although the strong arm around his waist keeps him steady on his feet, coming from a face he never wanted to see again.

"What a bitch!" He vaguely hears Dean swear, feeling that he has lost everything and it's the end for them.

She walks towards them with that damn smile and a flute on her hand, beautiful in a long wine dress with golden edges and that looks a lot like Indian traditional female clothing.

"The bullets that kill witches are in the trunk. If you can distract her," Dean says against his ear.

All Sam wants is a chance to kill her before anything comes out of those lips covered in red lipstick, but he knows it's useless because the place is filled with innocent people, and by the time Dean gets the bullets it will be too late anyway.

"No." It sounds almost desperate. "Stay with me." The arm tightens around his waist, ensuring.

"Together, Sammy. Remember."

Okay, he can do this. With Dean by his side, he can do anything. Sighing deeply, he tries to show a calm he doesn't feel. 

Winding like a snake, she stops two steps away from them. Her curly, shiny black hair reaches almost to her waist. She is beautiful, almost mesmerizing in fact, and so different from the woman they met months ago.

"You should give up on those awful flannels and wear tuxedos more often."

"What do you want? Did you come to finish your job?" Dean snarls, his possessive hand never leaving Sam's waist.

"I suggest a leash, Sam Winchester. Watchdogs are easier to control that way." She takes the flute to her mouth, sipping the champagne with disturbing confidence.

"You wouldn't be so cheeky if I'd my gun here, bitch."

"Calm down, Dean," Sam says. "There are innocents here."

"Sensible of you, Sam. It's a pity we don't have people like we used to, willing to worship the deities without much in return. Evolution actually blew it." 

Sam fixes his eyes on her in alarm. "We're not dealing with a witch."

"Finally!" Her laughter is melodious.

"Damn it!" Dean curses, and his brother is right because they know how to deal with witches, but gods are another story.

If the clothes are a clue, Sam knows who she is. But he asks anyway, "Who are you?"

"Parvati," she says proudly.

That's what Sam thought. "Shiva's consort. Known as a goddess of love and devotion."

"You did your homework, boy." That charming smile appears again, and she drinks more champagne.

"Bullshit!" Dean complains. "So why go around casting spells on people?"

"I never cast spells, boy." She sounds offended now.

"And all those deaths in Maine?" Sam questions her.

"It was a cursed amulet that those witches stole from one sanctuary dedicated to me. When you took care of the coven, I had already recovered the amulet. The deaths occurred before I found it."

"A goddess taking care of something so banal? It seems unbelievable," Dean says.

"Like I said, evolution sucks. And it was something special for me."

"What about the effects? Was it the amulet then? Why do we feel this even after you were gone?"

That sparkle in the black eyes is suspicious.

"The amulet only caused the deaths of those poor souls. It had no influence on you."

"But what we felt wasn't normal," Sam insists, despite hating every word coming out of his mouth.

"I just removed the inhibitions, allowing you to have what was meant to be your destiny." The goddess seems satisfied with herself.

Now it's relief that makes Sam weak at the knees again. Nothing is going to change. Dean is still his in every way.

"What do you mean?"

"You are soulmates. Destined to always be together, even after death."

"Holy shit!" His brother curses but it sounds like ‘I fucking knew it’.

"And everything we feel?" Sam needs all the answers.

"The sensations are most intense between soulmates."

"And what have we done to deserve your great kindness?" Dean asks, almost sarcastic now.

"Goddess of love, boy. Consider this a gift." She smiles. "But a little worship would be great."

Dean smirks, "I never prayed and don't intend to start now."

"That's what I thought." She doesn't look upset, however. "Have a long life, boys. And don't worry, I took care of the ghoul too. Enjoy the party." She raises the flute towards them, smiles sweetly, and disappears in an explosion of light.

Parvati's disappearance isn't noticed, and Sam wonders if the other people at the party have even noticed the goddess's presence.

"Do you believe her?" Dean asks.

"I don't know." Sam extricates himself from Dean's grip to meet his brother's beautiful eyes. "And if I tell you the only truth that matters is the one we believe in."

Understanding is everything Sam sees in the sincere expression, but the curl at the corner of Dean's mouth is unmistakably smug, "I'll just have to make an honest man out of you then."

Sam bursts out laughing. "Jerk!"

Dean laughs too before his arm goes back to Sam's waist.

"But now we're going to have some fun. You heard what the goddess said."

@@@@@

There is no marriage, but they behave like a couple anyway. Sex still has that incendiary blaze of want frequently, although that's sometimes slow and gentle. They still fight, mainly because Dean's still possessive as hell, though making up is much more interesting now. 

They are still brothers.

They are soulmates.


End file.
